


How Are Ya Fixed For Love?

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [31]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: Sharing a bed is one thing, but sharing a bathroom?
Relationships: Kirk/Brandt
Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524224
Kudos: 1





	How Are Ya Fixed For Love?

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1999 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt, and takes place between the Five-Year Mission and Star Trek: The Motion Picture (2269-2271). It is #27 in the series.
> 
> NOTES: This is a music video in which Admiral Kirk and Captain Brandt move into a new apartment. The song is "How Are Ya Fixed For Love?" and is performed by Frank Sinatra and Keely Smith. (Yeah, so now you know. I'm the unhippest person in all of Trekdom.)
> 
> This is dedicated to my mom, who made sure we grew up on *good* music. Ring a ding ding.

[Music in]

How are ya fixed for moonlight?   
How are ya fixed for stars?   
How are ya fixed for kissin'   
While we listen to soft guitars?  
***

Kirk picked up his toothbrush as he examined his face in the mirror, wondering how he'd look with a mustache. He pressed down on the nearby pump, inserted the toothbrush into his mouth, and had actually completed two strokes before his tastebuds protested against the sour flavor.

"Ack! Agh!"

Choking on a gritty texture, he rinsed his mouth repeatedly, cringing at the color of what he spat out.

When he stopped shuddering, he picked up the bottle, read the label, and realized that he had just brushed his teeth with Aldebaran facial mud. Looking around, he found the toothpaste on the shelf behind him. Of course.

He slowly counted to ten, reminding himself that they both knew there would be a period of adjustment when they moved in together six weeks earlier. But the appearance of an army of skincare products had stunned him.

"It's the only thing I'm really vain about," Brandt had explained nonchalantly.

"Why haven't I ever seen them before?"

"You were a guest before."

Still counting, he told himself that this wasn't worth going to war over. He was sure he did things that annoyed her. It's always a mistake to give in to anger--

"Hey!" an impatient female voice called, accompanied by a sharp rap on the door. "Hurry up! I have to take a shower too, you know!"

That did it. Still tasting the foul concoction, he scooped up the legion of oils, lotions, and creams, and stormed into the bedroom.

"Find another place for these!" he ordered, as he hurled them onto the bed.

"Hey! What--"

As a bottle of Hydro-Vita Essence bounced across the bed, the cap came off, and the aromatic liquid spilled across the comforter.

"What the hell is the matter with you!" She scrambled over the bed, frantically retrieving her precious ointments.

"I am sick of wading through this *crap* every time I go into the bathroom!"

Eyes blazing, she sprang to her feet, clutching the tubes and bottles to her chest.

"This is so typical! You've ruined the blanket! You have no respect for anything of mine--"

"Anything of yours? This apartment is full of nothing but things of yours!"

"Excuse me! Whose books went into storage to make room for that hideous collection of alien clutter?"

"Who has only one-third of the closet?"

"Who hasn't taken his turn walking the dog in four days?"

"What? That has nothing to do with--You're more considerate of the dog than you are of me!"

"The dog is better behaved than you are!"

They stared at each, shaking with anger. After a tense moment, each pulled silently back from the precipice.

Kirk drew a deep breath and, in a carefully controlled voice, said, "We need a bigger apartment."

Brandt nodded tersely.

"Agreed."

***

How are ya fixed for someone   
To watch the rain with?   
To stroll down the lane with?   
For someone to just   
Go a little insane with?

  
***

Kirk opened the back of the flitter and began handing the drop cloths to Brandt.

"I still can't believe we're doing this. When I left home, I thought I'd never have to paint anything again."

"I told you, Jim. Very few San Francisco apartments have programmable walls. And we can't live with that color."

He made a face. The new apartment was lovely and spacious and had *two* full bathrooms. A great view. A big kitchen. A rent they could almost afford. Unfortunately, the living room walls were a color that could only be described as nauseous mauve.

As he leaned in to retrieve the cans of paint, he heard an appreciative chuckle.

"Well, here's something I never thought I'd say. Admiral, you've got the best butt in the fleet."

She gave that part of his anatomy a playful slap.

"Thank you, Captain," he said as he started up the steps.

She lagged behind for just a few seconds in order to better enjoy the sight of a little bit of heaven in running shorts.

***

How are ya fixed for memories?   
Memories that shine so bright?   
If we let fancy take us,   
We could shake us a few tonight.

***

Brandt looked up from spreading the drop cloths, and her mouth fell open in surprise.

"*What* are you wearing?"

Kirk was adjusting the straps on a pair of loose-fitting, paint-spattered overalls. The luscious running shorts were nowhere in sight.

"These are my painting clothes," he explained.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, Jethro--"

"Watch it, Brat. These belonged to my grandfather."

Brandt held her tongue, wishing she dared ask if his grandfather had been a circus clown. How could a man as vain as Jim have become attached to a pair of overalls that were at least one size too big for him?

But his broad chest was displayed quite nicely.

***

How are ya fixed for someone   
Who'll fit your arms like a glove?   
Hey, tell me, baby,   
How are ya fixed for love?

***

Two hours later, Brandt pulled a beer out of the cooler and sat down on the floor with a satisfied grunt. After enjoying a healthy swig, she rolled the bottle against her forehead and sighed loudly.

Kirk twisted on the ladder.

"Hey, slacker. Who said you could take a break?"

"I deserve it. The trim on the windows is done. And besides--" Her eyes sparkled merrily. "You're not the boss of me."

"They couldn't pay me enough to accept that position," he retorted as he dipped the roller into the tray.

Smiling, Brandt settled in to enjoy the show.

Kirk's back glistened with sweat as he reached up and pressed the roller to the top edge of the wall. The muscles in his arms stood out sharply as he pushed the roller back and forth. One of his shoulder straps had come free and swung teasingly down his back. The smattering of white dots was almost shocking against his tanned skin. A small trail of dried paint slithered over his bare shoulder. She thought of how much she would enjoy washing that off, and how his skin would glow from a vigorous scrubbing. Her eyes followed the path of paint down his back until it disappeared enticingly into the seat of the overalls.

He turned to re-dip the roller, and she found herself staring at the buttons on the side of the overalls. The top one was open and the small flap winked at her as he moved. The other buttonholes looked quite ragged. The merest flick of a motion would expose his hips so she could run her hands over the indentation at the top of his leg.

He reached up and began applying more paint to the wall.

She took a hard swallow of beer as she watched the loose fabric move against his body. She imagined the soft, nubbly texture of worn cotton brushing against the smooth skin of his cock. His balls, heavy and sweaty, swinging freely below, unconstrained in the warm darkness. And the entire lovely trio dangling between taut, well-muscled legs, hidden in the lazy folds of denim.

As he bent one leg and rested a knee on the ladder, she saw the seat of his pants tighten over his ass, clearly outlining the cheeks and pressing into the crack.

Oh my, she thought as she squeezed her thighs together.

***

[Swingin' instrumental]

***

Her erotic reverie was interrupted by the distant sound of raucous music. She set down her beer and went out onto the balcony. Looking up the street, she saw a large, colorful procession approaching.

"Jim! Come out here! It's the Diversity Day parade!"

He joined her and slipped his arm around her waist as he stood next to her. Now she could smell the heady scent of his labors. She felt his hand resting casually on the curve of her hip. She glanced up at him and felt a powerful urge to trace his profile with her tongue.

He began rocking gently as he tapped his foot in time to the music. She felt the loose fabric of his overalls brush against her bare leg. As the parade drew closer, the music became louder, more festive and demanding, and her blood raced to the pounding of the drums.

As the bright banners swirled before her eyes, she slipped her hand into the side of his overalls and reached down to caress the treasures hidden there.

She heard Jim inhale sharply as his cock stiffened in her hand.

***

How are ya fixed for moonlight?   
How are ya fixed for stars?

***

The heart of the parade was right in front of them, banging and braying.

He was fully hard and his hand gripped the side pocket of her cut-offs. She slid her hand lower, and his balls came alive against her palm, throbbing to her touch.

The parade stopped moving forward directly below them, allowing the various groups to show off their footwork to the jangling accompaniment of brass and percussion.

As she wrapped her fingers around the pole that was tenting the front of his grandfather's overalls, she felt his hand push down into her pants and cup her bottom.

She looked around and saw people on nearly every balcony up and down the street. Luckily, they appeared engrossed in the spectacle below and were unaware of the activities of their new neighbors.

To the irresistible encouragement of the brass band, they continued groping each other, all the while smiling and nodding at the performance taking place on the street.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and the spectators began applauding and cheering. After a brief pause, the drum major did a quick count-off. Then, as the parade began moving, Jim pulled Suzanne's hand out of his pants and led her into the apartment.

***

How are ya fixed for kissin'   
While we dig those wild guitars?

***

She aggressively backed him up against the open balcony door--the only unpainted vertical surface in the room--and kissed him passionately, pushing the overalls out of her way.

"Ow!" he cried as he was goosed by the door handle.

"Sorry," she mumbled and dragged him to the floor.

They rolled across the drop cloths as he tore at her clothing and she tried repeatedly to climb on top of him. They slammed into the cooler, which lost its top and tumbled onto its side. As they rolled away, engrossed in frenzied kisses, they were followed by several chilled beer bottles.

"Ahh!" he screamed as two ice-cold brews snuggled up to his bare ass.

"Sorry," she said as she straddled his hips and kicked the bottles away with her foot.

But he had no intention of being on the bottom. He pushed her over and scrambled onto her, kicking over the ladder and taking a sharp blow on the head from the plummeting paint tray.

"Shit!" he roared.

"Sorry--" She reached for him.

"Stop! Just stop." He sat up and rubbed his head. "Brandt," he pleaded as he surveyed the destruction of the room. "Can we please decide how to do this before one of us suffers a serious injury?"

She nodded. "Rock-paper-scissors?"

"Winner on top. One--two--three!"

"Shit," she muttered.

"Sorry," he grinned and pressed her to the floor with intent to thrill.

***

How are ya fixed for someone   
To sit and tan with?   
To worry and plan with?

***

As the last rays of sunshine played across the floor, Brandt stood in the middle of the living room, surveying their work with satisfaction. Kirk came up behind her and crossed his arms around her waist.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" she said.

"Mm hmm."

She turned and saw that he was once again clad in his Academy t-shirt and running shorts.

"What happened to Grandpa's overalls?"

Jim nodded toward a corner where his painting clothes were folded neatly atop the pile of drop cloths.

"I imagine those can be worn for other little chores, can't they?" she asked coyly.

Laughing, he hugged her hard. Looking over his shoulder, an uneven discoloration caught her eye.

"Jim, on the second coat, I think you missed a spot near the fireplace."

He pulled back and fixed her with a stern look. "I'm not doing anymore painting today. If I missed a spot, we'll put a plant in front of it."

Music drifted in through the open French doors. Jaunty, swingin' music. Music that Kirk recognized only because of Suzanne's devotion to 20th Century popular culture.

She pressed her mouth to his ear and sang, "For someone to dine right from out of a can with."

As Ol' Blue Eyes continued crooning in the background--

How are ya fixed for memories? Memories that glow so bright.

\--Kirk pulled her into the opening steps of a Warp 9 swing and said, "Brat, don't sing."

"But this is my favorite part," she replied and enthusiastically warbled, "Oooo, if we let Cupid rock us, we could knock us a few tonight."

To his surprise, she actually did a passable imitation of Sinatra. If Sinatra sang in the key of R.

***

How are ya fixed for someone   
Who'll fit your arms like a glove?

***

As they spun around the room to the lively sound of a big band, he realized that this was probably the only time he would ever be allowed to address her as "baby." So he joined in.

"Tell me, baby, how are ya fixed for--"

He leaned over, bending her back in a deep dip. Unfortunately, she wasn't prepared for it. She lost her balance and crashed to the floor, taking her partner down with her. And as the music played out, they lay laughing on the floor of the apartment that now felt like home.

***

Hey, tell me, baby,   
How are ya fixed for--

***

Suzanne straightened slowly, ignoring the protest of her lower back. Two days of packing and unpacking had definitely taken its toll. But it was worth it. She smiled as she placed the last two bottles of lotion on the sink, noting with guilty pleasure the absence of male paraphernalia. *Her* bathroom.

She carried the empty boxes out to the living room and found Jim repositioning the sofa for at least the sixth time. He was wearing the overalls that were evidently more versatile than she had been led to believe. She caught his eye and crooked her finger at him as she headed back to the bathroom.

"I think this room is ready for initiation," she said when they were both standing in the middle of her domain.

"Good idea," he said and lifted her up onto the counter.

"No, we did that in the old apartment." She scooted off the counter. "*Now* we have a bathtub."

She bent over and turned on the faucet.

"It's too small," he protested as she pushed the straps off his shoulders.

"I haven't measured it--" She dragged the overalls down over his hips. "--but I think it's bigger than the chair in your office." She gestured authoritatively to the tiny tub. "Bath time, JT."

After a moment's hesitation, he kicked off his shoes and got into the tub.

She undressed slowly as the hot water rose around him.

"Lay back," she whispered.

He obeyed and she turned away to sort through the neatly arranged bottles near the sink.

She knelt down beside the bathtub, popped the cap on the bottle in her hand and up-ended it. Then she smiled with lusty delight as she dribbled slick, aromatic, and very expensive bath oil onto the glorious form stretched out in *her* bathtub.

***

Tell me, baby,   
How are ya fixed for love?


End file.
